It Bears Repeating
by OrilliaOrange
Summary: Cassandra and Varric find themselves reliving the same day over and over again.


Day 1

"That can't be right, Seeker." Varric peers up at her, sleepily.

It's early morning and they're at the Three Trout camp in Crestwood. That wouldn't be unusual except that they were at the North Gate camp the night before.

"Why would I make it up?" Cassandra snaps, flinging the flap of Varric's tent wide open.

The Seeker's right. They're definitely at Three Trout Farm. The quip he had prepared dies in his throat. No doubt the Seeker finds that satisfying.

Day 3

"Inquisitor, we must find out what has happened to us!" Cassandra pleads.

"We will, Cassandra, I promise. Dorian says he's not sure if it's time magic, but that seems likely. Even so, he says we ought to have seen some evidence of instability," the Inquisitor says, offering Cassandra a reassuring smile.

It is not reassuring. It is the same explanation, the same placating smile the Inquisitor's given her for the last two days.

"Give it up, Seeker," Varric calls from his tent.

"I will not!" Cassandra spins on her heel to glare at the dwarf. "You may be content to relive the same day over and over-"

"The hell I am!" Varric's face is thunderous "I have friends. A life. Both of which I want back. There's just no way we're getting help from them."

"You don't know that!" Cassandra snaps

"I've watched you spend half a day convincing the Inquisitor and Sparkler that we're stuck in a time loop that only you and I are immune to, and the next day we're back at the camp!" Varric rages. "It isn't working, Seeker!"

Cassandra looks down her nose at Varric, realizes suddenly that she's looming over him, doesn't remember either of them crossing the campsite.

They glare at each other, take a step back, and Cassandra sighs.

"You are not wrong, Varric" she admits, grudgingly. "What do you suggest we do?"

"We're stuck in the ass end of Crestwood, Sparkler's no help, and there's no way two non mages are going to break whatever this enchantment is." Varric shrugs "How about a game of Wicked Grace?"

Day 5

"Maker's breath!" Cassandra swears, throwing her cards on the makeshift table.

Around her, the Inquisitor and Dorian are missing the larger portion of their clothing. Cassandra herself has discarded both gloves, her boots, socks, and breastplate.

Varric is, of course, fully clothed.

This is their second straight night playing Wicked Grace, after they get through the day's necessary actions (kill three bears, fight Red Templars, solve an astrarium).

At this point, Cassandra has to admit she and Varric work well together. She just doesn't need to like that fact.

"Three of a kind" she says.

The Inquisitor and Dorian both look disgusted, throwing their cards on the table and promptly bickering about which article of clothing to remove.

"Four of a kind", Varric lays his hand out with a shit-eating grin.

"Ass."

As Cassandra peeled off the padded over tunic she wears under her armour, she could have sworn Varric winked at her.

Day 15

"No shit there we were, guards at one end of the alley. Nothing but trash and a brick wall at the other." Varric's mug wavers in the air ever so slightly.

"What did you do?" Cassandra hangs rapt on every word, eyes wide.

"Without missing a beat, Hawke tears into 'em. Starts going on about how they're ruining an undercover operation, calling them insubordinate idiots with all the sense the Maker gave a table! She threatened to have them fired and flogged out of the city!" Varric crows, face ruddy in the dying firelight.

"Never! And it worked? You escaped?" Cassandra breathes, eyes fixed on Varric's face.

"We did! Made it all the way back to the Hanged Man!" Varric smiles into his cup, "Which was when Rivaini starts ordering drinks for the whole tavern, courtesy of the Kirkwall guard! She'd picked their pockets on the way past!"

Cassandra choked on her ale, sputtered a weak "No!"

"Ancestors strike me down if I tell a lie!" Varric laughed, pouring himself another drink.

"I do not think I should be encouraging you, dwarf." Cassandra scolds, eyes glowing.

Across the fire, Varric notices that Cassandra's sharp cheeks are flushed rosy from the fire's heat and the ale, that her dark eyes glint in the firelight, and realizes that the Seeker is a beautiful woman.

Day 23

"Varric, do you think this will ever end?" Cassandra ducks the Red Templar's axe, smashes her shield into his face.

She spins away, and Varric fires a crossbow bolt through the Templar's throat.

A triumphant war cry and a burst of chill air signifies the Inquisitor and Dorian's victory over the other side of the hill.

Varric re-holsters Bianca, shrugs. "Couldn't tell you, Seeker. Either it runs it's course, or…"

Cassandra grimaces. Neither of them want to contemplate what the future might bring if whatever enchantment they're under doesn't run its course.

Day 31

"Flush" Cassandra lays her cards down proudly. The Inquisitor and Dorian are only preserved from indecent exposure by their small clothes, while she and Varric remain almost fully clothed.

"Four of a kind. Would you look at that?" Slowly, Varric unwinds the sash from his waist and adds it to the pile of discarded clothes.

It was probably a bad idea to teach Cassandra how to cheat at cards.

Day 35

"It's like an ache in my chest that doesn't go away", Varric says.

Beside him, Cassandra grunts in agreement. They're lying under the statue of Andraste, on the hill overlooking old Crestwood, and they're both drunk as lords.

"I felt the same after Anthony was killed. When I had the news of Galyan's death from Leliana", Cassandra says. "I am sorry about your Bianca, Varric."

With a start, Varric realizes he hadn't been thinking of Bianca at all.

Day 45

Cassandra loses track of the days, and it doesn't bother her as much as it used to. She and Varric have fallen into a routine. In the mornings they alternate- some days she teaches Varric combat tricks, other days he teaches her how to pick locks. They fight bears, Red Templars, and solve an astrarium alongside the Inquisitor and Dorian. Some nights they play Wicked Grace together, or Diamondback.

When the Inquisitor and Dorian have gone to bed, she and Varric explore.

Cassandra finds she looks forward to their walks, late at night. Sometimes they go into the mountains, other times they wander the moonlit ruins of old Crestwood, and Varric tells ghost stories.

In return Cassandra tells him stories of her Mortilitasi uncle, the elaborate crypts that echo with the moans of the undead and reek of incense. She tells him of her Vigil, they argue over Tranquility.

One day, Cassandra can't remember which, she told Varric about Antony. Not his death, but of their adventures as children. She and Varric had sat side by side, looking out over the remains of the old village. Gently, he had taken her hand.

Day ?

Varric's stopped worrying about the time loop. If the world was going to end, it would have and they'd been free. Since it hasn't, it's probably a spell, and hopefully the mage responsible is eaten by a nug.

Instead of worrying, he goes on adventures with the Seeker. They trade stories, drink by the fire, watch the stars. Rather, Cassandra watches the stars and he watches her.

It doesn't make any damn sense.

She's still the Seeker- blunt, self righteous, hot headed, and infuriating. There's just something else there now. Something that lingers in her smile, in the dark fringe of her eyelashes, the scar on her back from her first real battle, the susurration of her callused palms brushing his sleeve.

Varric sees her watching him, out of the corner of his eye. Dares to hope she's feeling the same strange pull, the compulsion to touch that eats him alive every time they draw close to one another.

Day ?

They're sitting next to each other on the hill above old Crestwood, moonlight limns everything around them, and Cassandra is beautiful.

He doesn't mean to do it. Cassandra's breath catches in her throat, and Varric feels his heart shatter, but doesn't move his hand from where it's cupped around her jaw. Her heartbeat throbs against his fingers.

It's too much and not enough. He wants to run his hands over every inch of her, to press her against himself, and hold her as tight as he can. Varric wants to kiss her so much, it's painful.

Cassandra exhales, and everything happens at light speed.

Her lips collide with his, Cassandra smears kisses across Varric's mouth, his chin, his jaw, down his neck. Her hands slip beneath his tunic while his hands roam greedily over her body, pulling her closer.

One of them groans. Varric can't be sure who it was. He feels overcome, flooded with relief. He kisses her, drags her down to his mouth, one hand fisted in her shirt.

"Varric." Cassandra's breath caresses his neck, sends chills down his spine.

With effort that feels almost inhuman, Varric stops kissing Cassandra long enough to look at her.

Cassandra's hair is mussed, her lips red from kissing him, and her eyes shine, brighter than stars.

He could spend the rest of his life looking at her.

Cassandra searches his face, and whatever she sees, she must find satisfactory.

Cassandra yanks him forward, and Varric braces his hands on either side of her head. Her strong arms twine their way around his neck, and Varric is lost, lost forever in the way she bites her lip, in the joyous wickedness in her eyes.

Day 0

They wake up still on the hill above old Crestwood, dawn barely peeking above the horizon.


End file.
